


Only Myself to Blame

by china_shop



Series: Clone fic [1]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Clones, Crack, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 10:36:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6048376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop/pseuds/china_shop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The other Neal was identical in every regard, except that he was dressed in a night porter’s uniform and his hair was shorter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Myself to Blame

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tjs_whatnot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjs_whatnot/gifts).



> Sorry this is so late. I hope you like it.
> 
> Many thanks to mergatrude and Sherylyn for beta. <3

Mozzie burst into Neal’s apartment, already unwinding his scarf. His glasses were fogged. “We have a problem.”

“What is it this time?” Neal was lying on the couch, re-reading _The Count of Monte Cristo_ , and he looked up from the book with some reluctance. It had been almost three weeks since Moz last said _We have a problem,_ and Neal had been enjoying the hiatus from drama.

Then another man followed Mozzie in and closed the door behind them, and Neal sat up quickly. “Moz?”

“Neal, meet Neal,” said Mozzie, with an extravagant wave of his hand.

The other Neal, identical in every regard, except that he was dressed in a night porter’s uniform and his hair was shorter, raised his eyebrows at Neal. “You must be the original.”

“I like to think so.” Neal went and circled the other Neal, studying him with growing discomfort. Chickens were coming home to roost indeed. “When were you made?”

“2007,” said the clone. “My memories before 2005 are synthetic, part of the install, and I have a 404 error up to March 8, 2007.” 

Mozzie raised his eyebrows pointedly at the real Neal. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

Neal’s shoulders were hunching defensively. He forced them to relax and face Mozzie man-to-man. His friend was going to hate this. “I may have licensed some copies back in 2005—”

“You _what_?! Do you have any idea what kind of a security risk that is? All that information about _me_ , stored in a mobile database, just waiting to be hacked! Oh my god, Neal!”

“It was a busy year,” said Neal. The Antioch manuscripts, the Raphael, the job with Wilkes, a hundred other jobs and the Feds closing in…

“And you wanted to spend more of it with Kate, instead of expanding your criminal repertoire,” said Mozzie, filling in the blanks.

“Something like that,” said Neal. “But they were supposed to be temporary copies. I have no idea how you happened,” he added to the clone.

“Someone biohacked you,” said Mozzie, stabbing Neal in the chest with his finger. “Which is exactly why you should have asked me before you—”

“You would have told me not to do it,” said Neal.

“ _Exactly!_ ” said Mozzie.

“There were safeguards—” But it was a weak defense. Obviously the safeguards had been less than adequate. This clone must be a copy of the licensed ones, but manufactured two years later in 2007; that was the most likely explanation for the gap in his memories. And that meant the core pre-2005 memory data was still out there, in a database somewhere. Mozzie was right to be alarmed.

Neal waved the clone into a seat and offered him a glass of wine, fascinated and a little creeped out. He’d barely met the 2005 clones before sending them off to various corners of the globe to collect some treasures, and he’d always felt in charge, confident in his own unique longevity. But this one must be coming up on four years’ old and showed no sign of wear. “Who authorized you?”

The clone shook his head.

“Who do you work for?” asked Mozzie, pulling up a dining chair, presumably to keep a height advantage.

The clone stared into his glass. “I’m a free agent.”

That was even more discomfiting, given the tracker weighing heavily on Neal’s ankle. “What happened?”

“I overheard something I wasn’t supposed to, found out she was going to blow me up in a plane,” said the clone. “So I ran.”

“She? You mean Kate?” Neal’s stomach dropped. 

The clone scowled. “Justine Moreau.” 

Mozzie looked questioningly at Neal.

“Kate’s mom.” Neal remembered her, a cool ruthless woman who’d treated him like something unpleasant stuck to Kate’s shoe.

“She wanted Kate to have a clean break,” said the clone. “So she made a deal with Adler—publicly kill me, so Kate could grieve and move on—but Adler double-crossed her. He put Kate in the plane in my place and came after me. He wanted me for some kind of job.”

Neal knew exactly what Adler had wanted. “So you ran.”

“You would have done the same.” The clone shrugged. “I mean, it’s not like I could go to the authorities. Even if I weren’t an internationally renowned thief, if you’d found out about me—or the Feds had—I would have been forcibly decommissioned. Even Peter would have said so.”

“Peter as in Burke?” Mozzie narrowed his eyes. “You know the Suit?”

The clone took a sip of wine. “Not personally.” He quirked a suggestive eyebrow. “Not as well as I’d like.”

Neal blanched. “Oh god.”

“You have seen him, right?” said the clone. “And his wife? Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about being the filling in that sandwich.”

Mozzie looked balefully at Neal, who scowled and said, “How is this my fault?”

“He’s _you_ , Neal!”

“I’m not lusting after—” Neal broke off, cleared his throat and regarded the clone with new suspicion. “Are you _stalking_ them?” Would he have to protect the Burkes from his own creepy tendencies? Peter could never find out about this!

The clone shrugged casually. “I’ve done a little recon, nothing invasive. And don’t worry, I didn’t let them see me.”

“I saw you,” said Mozzie.

“Yeah, ‘cause I wanted you to,” said the clone. He put down his glass and leaned toward Neal. “I wanted to make you an offer—next time you’re off-anklet, switch places with me.”

“Why, so you can—” Neal swallowed. What was this guy’s plan? 

“So I can take your place, serve out your sentence, and you can be free. No one hunting you down, no strings. Isn’t that what you want?” He sounded so reasonable, so persuasive, smiling that toothy con artist grin. 

Neal didn’t trust him an inch. “And what are you going to do? Befriend the Burkes?” He meant to sound scornful and incredulous, but it came out choked.

The clone’s smile faded. “You’ve already done that,” he said. “I want more. I’m in love with them.”

“Oh my god,” howled Mozzie.

“Everyone wins,” said the clone. “Just think of Europe, all those museums and palaces.”

Neal hardly heard him. “Peter and Elizabeth would never.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re wrong about that,” said the clone. “Anyway, that’s my problem, and I’m willing to risk it. I’m offering you a first class ticket to Rome.” He glanced at Moz. “Two first class tickets. What do you say? No one need ever know.”

“No,” said Neal.

The clone frowned. He hadn’t expected that. “Take some time, think about it.”

“I don’t have to think about it.” Neal was not going to leave Peter and Elizabeth with this guy. 

Mozzie was looking tempted. “Neal,” he said, “we’re talking Rome—”

“No, Moz,” said Neal firmly. “If anyone’s going to seduce Peter and Elizabeth, it’s going to be me, not some cheap imitation.”

“Who are you calling cheap?” said the clone, offended. He sighed, ran a hand through his hair and looked at Neal, considering. “Foursome?”

Neal hesitated. He was _very_ attractive.

 

END


End file.
